Wrong Side of The Coin
by The Symbol of Faith
Summary: In strange occurring of events, Esteemed Angel, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Principality Aziraphale finds himself summoned by a Demonic ritual. Needless to say, he is very confused.


**AN: **Posted in response for the Final Round of the Fandom Games on Tumblr - Crack Fic for Good Omens

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Warnings: Lots of creative license, coz the book doesn't give me much to work with. Also, summoning and magic rituals are now a thing. Deal with it.

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Wrong Side of The Coin

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_Blood of pheasant, hair of wasp, wing of bat, leg of ant… in the name of powers that be, I summon thee! Divinity, obey me! _

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The first time Aziraphale was summoned, he cursed out loud.

_"Fuck." _

"Angel!" Crowley had gasped, scandalously amused, but Aziraphale was no longer there to hear him, or Crowley collapsing immediately after in fits of hissing laughter.

He returned half a day later, half smug and half disgruntled.

"I managed to grant his desire without much bloodshed, but oh, to be mistaken so! It's as if I'm some sort of demonic spirit, Crowley! Now, don't you laugh!"

It was chalked off as a one time thing, perhaps a mistaken summoning, never to repeat. Thus, when it occurred barely a month later, Angel and Demon sat down for some soul searching.

"We _are _of the same origin, maybe they summoned a 'divine spirit'?"

"And it called _you _?"

Aziraphale flicked his paper fan at him, unamused as Crowley dodged.

"Well? Are you not curious? You should be the one getting summoned for such dastardly causes!"

"Dast– no one says the word _dastardly _anymore, Angel!"

But despite all the humour they shared over the situation, it was getting a bit ridiculous. To think people were summoning Angels instead of Demons! One _prayed _to Angels, and then hoped that it got answered. Who ever heard of directly summoning an Angel to do their bidding?

"Do you?" Said Crowley, curious.

"Do I what? Fulfill their wish?" Aziraphale made half a hand motion and then aborted it. His cheeks reddened slightly. "When I can… I mean, don't look at me that way!"

Crowley was grinning, his glasses had slid down his nose and there was a glint of something in his eyes as he said, "I knew you aren't quite as pure as you like to portray yourself, angel."

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The fourth time it happened – all within a span of six months – Aziraphale didn't know what to do anymore.

"Is it because of the time I vanished away that guard? At the air base?"

Crowley had procured a notebook out of thin air – very literally; the paper looked nearly transparent and as if it would blow away with one puff of breath – and a pen out of a strand of his red hair. Then, they had begun listing every single "dastardly" thing Aziraphale had ever done, wondering what warranted him to be called by summoning rituals.

Crowley had volunteered to write them down, gleeful to have a full organised report of Aziraphale's not-so-angelic deeds.

It looked something like this:

1\. Gave Adam and Even the flaming sword

2\. Participated in the flooding of the world

3\. Destroyed quite a few settlements in ancient Rome

_(_**_That _**_is not one of mine – ! _

_Yes, yes, Angel, but it is still you who carried out the deed for me. _

_Stop smirking, I see you Crowley! And that one – it was purging of the world to renew it, not – not flooding! _

_Whatever you say, Angel, whatever you say.) _

By the time 6000 years of deeds had been enlisted, Crowley had created enough pages to bind several anthologies.

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale, wringing his hands. "Oh dear, oh –"

"Don't you say 'dear' again!"

If immortal wrists could hurt from writing, Crowley's would be in a plaster cast. He'd started off this task as something comical, but really, he shouldn't have underestimated the level of bastardness that Aziraphale could sink to. They were friends for a reason after all.

"It has to be something recent," said Aziraphale, flipping through the pages, "Do you think at the air base…?"

"Uh, pretty sure whatever you did, Angel, was overshadowed by the literal Lord of Hell appearing and throwing a tantrum."

And then Crowley shut his mouth, because while blasphemy might not exist for demons, it takes a special brand of idiocy to bad mouth the Devil. Crowley liked to think he hadn't _fallen _that far yet.

* * *

"Getting summoned?"

Anathema had grown up on prophecies, had grown with the future a half-solved riddle before her, had developed enough critical thinking skills to make sense of the weirdest thing life could throw at her.

But really, this was just asking too much of her.

"What do I even know of summonings?"

Aziraphale shrugged, "We're just as lost, my dear."

"If anything," said Anathema, "you have an inside source to summoning right beside you!"

"Oi, I've never been summoned before," said Crowley, "don't go about making assumptions just because I'm a demon – that's, uh…" he waved a hand to indicate something, "uh what's that thing that little girl keeps talking about?"

"Discrimination?" Offered Anathema. Piper talked about a lot of things, but that was something she never hesitated to speak up about.

"That! You're being _demonist_."

"Nothing like that exists!"

Aziraphale coughed, "Ahem, yes, let's move on. Besides, Crowley isn't a very uh, popular demon to be summoned."

"Oi!"

"No offense to you, my dear."

Anathema ignored the muttered _'I'm taking offense anyway' _to focus on Aziraphale's statement.

"Wait, repeat that."

Aziraphale blinked. "Crowley isn't very popular?"

"Okay, yes, thanks, no need for reiteration."

"Hush dear, let the girl think."

"What, now my talking is a distraction?"

"You do have a beautiful voice."

"Flattery, Angel. Flattery will get you nowhere," said Crowley, shaking his head, amused.

"That's it!" Said Anathema, fingers snapping as it came to her, "Popularity – do you remember when you were wandering about as a spirit?"

Angel and Demon blinked back in almost comical synchronicity.

* * *

Possession was a Demonic activity. Demonic withal capital 'D'. And there Aziraphale was, touring the Earth, flitting about from body to body, trying to find his way to Tadfield.

"I was on the TV," groaned Aziraphale. "That man on the news!"

"Yep." Crowley popped the "p" tor emphasis, reclining against the entirety of the leather couch in Aziraphale's new-old bookshop. "With all your characteristic sweetness too, I'm sure. _Is this England, dear? What language do you speak, dear boy? _"

Aziraphale flushed. "Surely that wouldn't be enough to – !"

Crowley cackled, "Ah, to think you've brought humans to bring back the age old ritualistic summoning just by being doting! And here we Demons have spent decades trying to barter better deals with them in exchange for doing their work." He wagged a finger at Aziraphale, "Who ever taught humans to haggle?"

"I'm quite sure that was you, Crowley."

"Oh dear," Crowley gave an affected look, a hand clutching at his chest, "So I did. I suppose you'll just have to put up with these summonings till human memory lasts, then."

Aziraphale, in a fit of unexpected pettiness, chucked at book at him.

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